


whisper in your ear (i wanna fucking tear you apart)

by peachmaisie



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark!Matt, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachmaisie/pseuds/peachmaisie
Summary: "Come sit with me." He chose to say instead of wringing his hands around Foggy's throat, which he was grateful for thank you very much. However, his feet remained planted exactly where they were and didn't move any closer to the Devil as he let out a bark of laughter."This is my apartment! You can't just break in and ask me to sit down like we're going to have a tea party." Foggy realized his voice was getting higher but that was probably at the bottom of his worries, there were more pressing matters like how the Devil had started smiling again."Are you offering tea?" He asked with a voice like honeyed milk, a smooth contrast to his rough appearance. Granted, Foggy had never seen his face before but his bloody mouth and bruised knuckles spoke novels. It was almost a pity that he'd chosen to go out and play god, with a voice that nice he easily could have talked anyone into anything— He'd be a good lawyer, Foggy thought to himself before snapping out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

No one should be able so pretty with blood in their mouth, but if anyone could pull it off then it’d be the Devil. He made it look effortless, with his legs spread open, warm and inviting as he flashed a cherry red smile in Foggy’s direction.

For weeks, ever since the incident in the alley, The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been following Foggy around like a lost puppy. At first, it made him feel safer like no one would think about touching him with his guardian angel decked in red up on the rooftops but things slowly started to feel less and less like a gift.

“You took the long way home.” The Devil said with a knowing grin and Foggy stood there unable to drag his eyes away from the blood staining his teeth, he wondered if it all belonged to the Devil.

He also wondered how the living fuck he managed to get into his apartment. It wasn't as though he'd left his windows unlocked as some kind of calling card, the very point of locking them was to keep strangers out (and to keep his apartment warm obviously, the heating was too damn expensive to waste.) Then again, it wasn't like the Devil abided by people's rules, Foggy's stomach dropped as he thought how stupid he'd been to think he'd treat him any different.

"Scenic route," Foggy replied with a touch of hysteria in his voice. Not only was there a stranger currently in his apartment, sprawled out in his armchair like the cat who got the cream but that stranger was a known criminal. That stranger was dressed up in red leather with a stupid mask on with horns and had blood in his mouth and Foggy thought he might faint.

The Devil, who at any point Foggy thought might start purring, tilted his head up ever so slightly. His smile faltered just enough for Foggy to notice it and for a second he thought his stranger was finally going to snap, his neck, probably.

"Come sit with me." He chose to say instead of wringing his hands around Foggy's throat, which he was grateful for thank you very much. However, his feet remained planted exactly where they were and didn't move any closer to the Devil as he let out a bark of laughter.

"This is my apartment! You can't just break in and ask me to sit down like we're going to have a tea party." Foggy realized his voice was getting higher but that was probably at the bottom of his worries, there were more pressing matters like how the Devil had started smiling again.

"Are you offering tea?" He asked with a voice like honeyed milk, a smooth contrast to his rough appearance. Granted, Foggy had never seen his face before but his bloody mouth and bruised knuckles spoke novels. It was almost a pity that he'd chosen to go out and play god, with a voice that nice he easily could have talked anyone into anything— He'd be a good lawyer, Foggy thought to himself before snapping out of it.

After giving him a brief look over, Foggy couldn't spot any weapons on the Devil at that moment. It wasn't like he needed them, but it was good to know. The bottoms of his boots were caked in mud, said mud had also been tracked into Foggy's apartment through the window and it was an effort not to sigh at the thought of having to clean it up. There was no blood apart what was in the Devil's mouth and while Foggy would have appreciated no blood at all, at least he didn't have to clean that up too.

"Do you...want tea?" The Devil didn't look surprised by Foggy's question, he just smiled wider and nodded his head. "Okay." Dropping his bag with little regard on the floor, Foggy made a beeline for the kitchen while keeping an eye on his intruder. He just got more comfortable in his seat, snuggling down and resting his arms down either side of the chair. If he didn't have the stupid mask on, Foggy would be certain he had his eyes closed.

Foggy was all for self-defense if the time called for it but after seeing the Devil in action, he knew it wouldn't be wise to try to attack him. He'd only ever punched one person in his life (Roland Clark, he'd tried to pull down Marci's shirt at a party and Foggy had been told he punched him square in his nose. He had to be told this because he was knocked out not seconds later but his fist hurt for days after so he was pretty sure it wasn't some fever dream.)

"Your apartment's smaller than I expected." The Devil called out over the whine of the kettle playing in the background, he leaned his head over the back of the armchair so that Foggy could see him. "Are they not paying you enough?"

"Are you gonna go rough them up for me?" Foggy chose to ignore how the Devil seemed to know where he worked. It wasn't a secret by any means, he worked closely alongside Jeri Hogarth and her team and while they weren't the most friendly bunch, it gave him enough to live and feel like he was making a difference.

The Devil hummed softly in response and leaned his head forwards again. Foggy had been joking but he didn't know if the Devil knew that— it felt stupid referring him to the Devil but what else could he say? Spandex boy? Wannabe Lucifer? He'd taken the name the city gave him and ran with it, and to be fair to him, in the dead of night his outfit did look pretty menacing.

"That was a joke, please don't do that," Foggy said after the Devil responded with nothing. At that point, he'd shoveled a few teaspoons of sugar into two mugs, added some milk and had poured the water in. Instead of looking over at his uninvited guest, Foggy continued to stare down at the mugs as the water turned a muddy colour, the teabags expanding then sinking down because of their own weight.

"I would if you asked me." The Devil replied as Foggy walked back into the living room, his heart hammering in his chest still but not nearly as much as it had been when he'd first spotted him. He hesitated to put the tea down in front of the Devil, but after a few seconds his bravery came back in a small burst and he hurriedly put in down on the coaster before sitting down on the edge of his couch, as far away from the Devil as he could be.

The sentiment was almost...nice? Take out the context of the fact he was offering to beat up his boss, and it wouldn't have been out of place in a romance novel. Foggy didn't know if he liked that, so he pretended like he hadn't made that connection and instead took a sip of his tea.

They stayed silently drinking their tea for a couple of minutes, every now and then Foggy would look over to the Devil and watch him. It was odd seeing him be so human, maybe not the Devil but rather just a man. The thought was comforting although not helpful. Foggy did not believe in the actual Devil but there was no denying man and how cruel they could be.

The longer the Devil sat there, the more comfortable he seemed to be. He slunk lower in Foggy's chair, his thighs spread wider all while sipping casually at the cup of tea that Foggy had willingly made him.

"What else would you do?" Staring down at the now empty bottom of his mug, Foggy felt the air in the room go thick. It was a ballsy question but so far, The Devil hadn't shown any intent to hurt him. He'd seen him in action, all frenzy fists and a savage smile, if he wanted him dead for whatever reason then he'd already be bleeding out on the nice rug his mom had got him. "Would you tell me who you are?"

The Devil didn't seem surprised by the question, his mask really kept for a lot of his expressions being disguised however so Foggy couldn't really tell. He didn't answer right away, he took his time in finishing his cup of tea then gently placing it back on the coffee table, a little right of the coaster.

"If you want." He replied casually and Foggy realized how different he sounded to when he was out on the streets. His voice then was all rough, like he'd swallowed shards of glass and wanted to cut the throats of anyone who dare mess with his city with them. "Do you?"

"I don't know." Foggy responded before the Devil had even a chance to finish his question because he didn't know. It wasn't even because he was scared of what would happen if he did know, whether that meant he'd have to be killed or something worse. It made it more intimate, he didn't want to keep the Devil's secret— he didn't want to be in his pocket.

His answer seemed to satisfy the Devil enough because after giving a curt nod, he was standing up out of his seat and walking over to Foggy. For whatever reason, Foggy didn't flinch when the Devil extended his gloved hand and rested it on his shoulder, he didn't nuzzle into it either but staying completely still was an okay response.

"I won't hurt you, Foggy." The Devil smiled, teeth bared. "I'll tell you when you're ready."

Foggy only realized after the Devil had left the way he came that all the blood in his mouth was gone, rinsed away by the tea he'd given him. His smile was pretty bloody or not, Foggy wasn't sure however which way he preferred.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy dreamt of the Devil a lot.  
  
He dreamt of his mouth, the pink curve of it and how it curled up into a wicked smile. He dreamt of his voice and of how few people had made him feel physically weak at the knees with only their words. He dreamt about the Devil's hands and the time he'd watched him pull his gloves off with his _teeth_. His palms had been warm against Foggy's cheek as he cradled him like something precious, something he could break with ease if he wanted.

In the end, Foggy always woke up in bed with sweat practically dripping from his collarbones, breathing as though he'd just escaped a monster. They were never nightmares but by how he woke up from them, it would be easy to mistake them as so. Always a little too intimate, the Devil's hands lingering on his waist as they stood in a dark alley, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip before leaning in to whisper in Foggy's ear.

The Devil would breath sweet words— _Honey, Sweetheart, why don't you come a little closer? You want to play, right? You're always so good for me._

There were plenty of things wrong with the situation. First and most important, this guy playing Devil was a fucking criminal, a murderer at that. Twenty men at least, all criminals themselves but Foggy couldn't believe that anyone deserved to have their life ended amongst the trash and piss that lined Hell's Kitchen's alleyways.  
  
Second, he was a criminal trying to bribe Foggy. What other reason would there be for the gentleness, why save him otherwise? Yeah, he might have claimed to be doing what he thought was the right thing but plenty of evil men thought what they did was right. On the nights Foggy didn't dream of him, he'd lay awake trying to put the pieces together, why him? Why out of all the people who lived in New York, why did the Devil chose him?

Third and finally, Foggy did not like the Devil. He didn't like his methods, his stupid suit, his disregard for human life. He didn't like his stupid cocky smile or the way he'd spread his legs when he sat, practically inviting Foggy to come perch on his lap. He did not like him one bit.

Yet, he dreamt of him.

Foggy had never seen the Devil without his horns, sometimes he wondered if he did then the mystery would be gone. Maybe he'd stop dreaming about him, whatever spark had been lit slowly would dwindle away as his subconscious caught up with the fact the Devil did taxes, he took showers, he had hopes and dreams and political opinions and was not the big god the city saw him to be.

Thinking about how handsome the Devil might be was stupid, a waste of time. There was no way Foggy would spend his time wondering what colour his eyes were or if he was actually as in shape as his costume made him out to be, not when his dreams took up enough time doing that themselves. Foggy didn't spend hours at work daydreaming about the Devil's mouth, his tongue, perfect white teeth then smeared with blood.

But what would the Devil do if Foggy told him these things? If he came home to find him perched on his couch again looking like every sin Foggy knew he should resist and instead of telling him to leave, he sat down beside him? Would he be shocked? Foggy assumed not, he always seemed to know what he was going to say or do before Foggy knew it himself.

Would he blush? Foggy knew he himself would. While all the thoughts he had about this stranger embarrassed him, the ones he had whilst dreaming were particularly bad. All the dreams he'd had about the Devil's hands on him, that mouth pressing against the sensitive skin of his neck, he always woke up before things got too heated but it was embarrassing none the less.

"You should have told me sooner." The Devil would purr because he's an asshole, before smiling and everything in Foggy's body would tell him to run away. Before he could even begin to process his own thoughts, the Devil would lean back and spread his legs and Foggy wouldn't be able to resist the urge to finally crawl and sit on his lap.

The thought of the Devil underneath him, all warm and available for touching, Foggy knew he shouldn't want him but there was a part of him that did despite everything. He thought about his head dropping back as Foggy made himself comfortable, those lips parted around a soft groan. It would be so easy to take his mask off right then and there but Foggy wouldn't want to, he'd want to feel his horns scratch against him as the Devil pulled him closer, he wanted to pull the Devil's gloves off with his teeth before letting him touch whatever he desired.

The Devil would wrap his hand around Foggy's throat like he'd done with so many others before, only this time he wouldn't squeeze till he felt the bones crunch beneath his fingertips. This time he'd listen to the thumping of Foggy's heart, feel his pulse and steady breaths vibrating through his palm like neon lights humming.

"Foggy." He'd breath as sweet as all the names Foggy dreamt of, even sweeter. He'd lean in close, lips brushing against Foggy's earlobe before whispering all the things he'd thought about too.  
  
A snappy tap to his knuckles and Foggy was no longer on the Devil's lap, he was back in the coffee shop sat across from Karen. He snapped out of his daydream just at the right time to see her pulling back from slapping his hand, a concerned look on her otherwise pretty face.

"Oh! Uh—My bad." He spluttered with an awkward smile, he knew Karen wouldn't buy it but it was worth the shot. The best case scenario would be that she plays along, pretend like she accepted whatever bullshit Foggy would spring on her when he explained why he was so out of it. Foggy didn't think about the worst case scenario, it was better not to. "Go on?"

"The news said Daredevil struck again last night," Karen said slowly, eyeing Foggy up suspiciously while picking away at the pastry she'd got herself. She was a reporter, after all, it was her job to read between the lines of what people told her—especially when they said nothing at all. "They found a body outside the police precinct, they haven't managed to ID him yet...apparently his face was beaten too viciously."

Foggy wanted to ask if her encounter with the Devil had been anything like his own. She'd met him long before he was the Devil when he was just some guy in a black costume and had yet to fully commit to the whole Satan thing. He'd saved her, he was a hero. Yet a few months later all the stories started coming out of him killing the criminals he apprehended, almost everyone who told the press about the incidents recalled how he'd smiled as he ended it all.

Something in Foggy's stomach twisted at the thought of the Devil talking to anyone else like he did with him. He wasn't jealous, that would be ridiculous but he wasn't stupid enough to deny that there was something possessive in him about this man. He wanted to get him off the streets, that was all. Some nights he laid awake planning what he'd say in court if he ever had to represent the Devil, God forbid.  
  
Granted, he thought more about the Devil in an actual suit as opposed to the red leather than actual speeches but it was more than nothing.

Foggy sat there quietly, eyeing up the cup of tea he'd ordered for himself. Karen had questioned why he hadn't ordered his usual coffee but he made up something about how he'd lost his taste for coffee for the past few weeks, nothing about how the Devil had sat in his living room and they'd sipped on tea together like a couple, like friends, something more than the predator and his prey.  
  
He was a criminal, a monster, he was the Devil for crying out loud but Foggy still thought about him every night before he went to bed. So what did that make him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come check me out over on tumblr (maggiemurdock) if you'd like to see more of this story!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr (nelsonsmurdock) if you'd like more of this story when i have time to pull new chapter's out of my ass!!

"No." Foggy breathed out from his position against the brick wall, staring across at the Devil who as usual, was smiling like a kid in a candy store. The mugger lay at his feet, moaning softly to himself as he tried to curl up into a tighter ball. Foggy was no doctor but it didn't take one to say that the guy probably had a few broken ribs, he would be lucky if that was all.  
  
The Devil pouted at Foggy's disappointed tone, he hadn't even had the chance to say anything yet that would even warrant that response. There was a twitch of pride however at how quickly he could get Foggy to respond however, he wasn't frozen in fear or halfway down the block—Despite what Foggy might believe, he didn't want to scare him.  
  
"Hey, is that any way to treat a friend?" The Devil smiled and held out his hands almost as if he were about to hug Foggy but was interrupted by Foggy's laughter, hysteric and breathless; the sound of it pulling at his heartstrings.  
  
"Woah there, hold up. We aren't friends." Before the Devil could get any closer, Foggy's hands were out in front of him to keep him a safe distance away. He wasn't scared, or at least not in the way one might expect. If the Devil got too close he was afraid of what he would be unable to resist.  
  
"Aren't we?" With a tilt of his head, the Devil stopped so that his chest was pressed flush against Foggy's hands. Foggy's heartbeat picked up at the touch, pounding so hard it was physically impossible for the Devil not to smile at the sound. Foggy wasn't a difficult read by any means but he certainly was his favourite.  
  
Dragging both his hands and gaze away from the Devil's chest after a second too long, Foggy dropped his arms back to his side and tried to press himself even closer to the wall. The opening to the alley felt miles away despite it being a meter or two away, he could run to it if he really wanted yet his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.  
  
"Thanks for..." Foggy stopped himself before he finished the sentence and like the Devil could read his mind, he grinned even wider and stood there expectantly, "saving me."  
  
"It was my pleasure, Foggy." The way the Devil spoke his name made Foggy both want to cringe and swoon, it was a little too personal for someone Foggy knew so little about. He didn't know his name, it felt unfair that the Devil got to use his. Then again, Foggy had never asked his name, for all he knew he could easily flip the script and try and grab some control back, he didn't though.  
  
The mugger groaned from behind the Devil and a realization struck Foggy like a punch to the gut. The Devil's smile faltered a little as Foggy swallowed the lump in his throat and pondered whether or not to speak his thoughts, they hadn't hurt too much before and unfortunately, he had some trust in the Devil.  
  
"You didn't kill him." He stated while eyeing up the mugger, the knife he'd threatened Foggy with somewhere further into the darkness of the alley. It was funny how unintimidating he looked curled up on the ground, Foggy didn't tell the Devil how he wasn't scared because he knew he'd come running— somehow he could tell the Devil already knew that.  
  
The Devil's face twisted, mouth becoming taut for a moment. Of course, the thought of killing the mugger had come to mind, it was the first thing he thought and didn't that make it the best? Anyone who even thought about causing Foggy harm deserved all the pain he could offer them, and there was a lot he could do before killing them to make them wish they were dead.  
  
"You didn't want me to." The Devil replied, sounding remarkably un-devil like. His voice was soft, warm like gingerbread or other things that made Foggy think about home— it terrified him how comfortable it made him.  
  
"What difference does that make?" Foggy doubted he was the first person to have the whole right and wrong talk with the Devil, he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be the last but he felt it was his right to at least try and make some difference. Even if it wasn't for himself or the city, for the Devil at least. "People have told you not to kill before, you never listened then so why now?"  
  
"Because I like you." The joyous teasing in the Devil's voice came back in small bites, just enough around the edges to make Foggy squirm. "And you like me, so I care about what you want."  
  
There was so much to analyze that Foggy just stood there with a blank look on his face for a good thirty seconds, until reached down and gave a sharp pinch to his hip.  
"This has to be a dream." He stated with that touch of hysteria in his voice that the Devil adored. Foggy looked around the alley as if something would pop out to confirm that yes, this was just another one of his weird Devil dreams. "Totally a dream, any minute I'll be back in school and late for class and— Oh great, there go my clothes, why wouldn't they vanish into thin air?"  
  
"I'm a regular in your dreams then?" Out of all Foggy had said, he was only partly glad that the Devil had decided to latch onto that part of his ramblings. He didn't know if he would survive any talk about him being naked coming out from that mouth.  
  
As the Devil took a step closer, Foggy thought about lying or changing the subject. He was in no way obligated to tell this stranger any of his secrets, this wasn't a courtroom and he while he was seriously considering pleading the fifth, he wondered what good it would do.  
  
Another step closer and Foggy's heart crawled its way up into his throat. It'd be so easy to respond no, he could try at least and pray to whatever God sent the Devil down in the first place that he'd spare him from whatever teasing he had lined up.  
  
"I don't know why I bother lying to you." He said instead and the Devil's smile was beautiful, soft around the edges in a way Foggy hadn't seen before. It was always the harsh kind, bloody lips, and stark white teeth but this was something almost fairytale, the kind of smile the prince gave upon rescuing the princess.  
  
"I don't know either." The Devil replied before taking another step and essentially pinning Foggy to the wall, their bodies not touching but would be if Foggy tried to move. He wasn't trying to make him stay, he didn't need to when he could tell what Foggy was going to do before he even knew it himself. "You're an awful liar, I'm sure you're plenty good at other things."  
  
Before Foggy could even begin to take apart and process the Devil's words, a gloved hand was brushing against his cheek and all his brain functions had to go to make sure his knees didn't give way. He would not survive being on his knees in front of the Devil, his heart might explode and what a way to go, his mother would be furious.  
  
"You don't have to lie to me about anything, I want you to trust me." The Devil said thoughtfully as he stroked his finger across the soft curve of Foggy's cheek. The roundness of it made his heart thump a little harder, a detail he could store away with the other things he knew about Foggy's appearance.  
  
"Seems a little unfair, don't you think?" Foggy gave himself a mental high five for remembering how his mouth works and what words are. "Why should I trust you? You're a stranger with personal space issues, who is also a murderer and probably a little crazy and likes to dress up as the Devil like a kid on Halloween."  
  
"I'm not crazy." The Devil replied and his finger stilled on Foggy's cheek. "I know what I'm doing, okay? I know the difference between right and wrong, It isn't crazy to understand those lines are blurred more than the law gives them credit." His point was one that Foggy had heard before but he had never been convinced, the law was there for a reason and it wasn't up to the citizens to decide whether or not they wanted to follow it.  
  
The Devil was close enough for Foggy to see the cracks in his lips, cuts with tissues hardening over and yellowing bruises across his cheeks. He'd never quite as much wanted to see what the Devil looked like as he did at that moment, maybe it would make him want to believe that he was just a man trying to do some good.  
  
"So, Devil part's still true then?" Foggy said instead and the corner of the Devil's pretty mouth turned up into a smirk. He dropped his hand away from Foggy's cheek and stepped back, the smirk never faltering for a second.  
  
"I think you like it." It didn't do much as to disprove Foggy's theory that he could read his mind, not when he wore that stupid knowing smile and stood there looking at him through red eyes as Foggy imagined he was. Maybe he'd ask that if he ever got the courage, his name first on the list but not long after, how the hell do you see through that thing?  
  
"I don't hate it." He replied honestly and the Devil had never looked quite as beautiful at that moment. It wasn't the kind of beautiful that you touched though, Foggy knew if he did he wouldn't be able to stop and how did that make him any better than the Devil? He could live with complicit, without being able to touch, but only if it meant he got to see him again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello welcome to another chapter of this story or as i like to call it "maisie's shameless dark matt fantasies" because this has to be the most self-indulgent thing i've written; and i've written countless reader inserts. anyways, the response to this story has been wonderful and if you have anything you'd like to see me explore, do go send me a message on tumblr at "nelsonsmurdock" because honestly this story has no plot im just postin these chapters as they come yknow? anyways enjoy!!!

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The Devil sat in the confessional out of his own free will, no terrible deed worse than the rest having driven him there. The wood creaked around him, serving as a reminder of all the other sinners who had sat there and confessed their soul, though he doubted any of them had been there as much he had.  
  
"Third time in two weeks." A voice commented from the other side of the divider, it wasn't so much amusement in his voice as it was expectancy. As it turned out, the Devil wasn't nearly as scary without the costume, with his voice not lowered as to inflict fear.  
  
"Yeah, I've been busy." Not even the Devil himself knew if he meant too busy to attend Church more, or busy in the way of snapping necks. He tried to attend every Sunday, wear his best like his father would have wanted him to and go listen to preachings of how to be better in his faith.  
  
The Devil believed in God, how could he not? After all, he was the one that had made him this way. For a long while he'd wanted to curse him for all the rage he'd put within his soul, for continuing to take and take from his life while never giving anything in return but a point came where the Devil learned how to love his name and in turn love God for giving it to him.  
  
When his priest stayed silent, the Devil breathed out a low chuckle while fiddling with the legs to his glasses. They balanced delicately on his thigh, the bridge of his nose slightly sore from where he'd pushed and fiddled with them throughout the day. There was no need for them there, some days they felt just as much a costume as his red suit did.  
  
"I've met a man, Father." The Devil said after a second too long of awkward silence. The corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile, it had become a challenge not to beam ear to ear when he thought about Foggy. He hadn't come to confess over some intense gay thoughts, those were yet another thing the Devil had worked over the intense shame.  
  
"A good man?" The priest asked while managing to keep his tone both interested yet professional. Even a man of God had to admit that not everyone could be saved, you could confess every day of your life and God could forgive you each time but it did not mean shit the day you decided forgiveness wasn't necessary. The Devil kept returning and he was yet to work out if it was to actually confess his sins or just have someone to talk to.  
  
"Too good for me." The Devil replied softly.  
  
"And that's why you're here?" In reality, the Devil didn't know exactly why he'd found himself back in church, it seemed to be his place to run when he didn't know where else to be. He felt that way a lot, never quite feeling like he belonged anywhere. Maybe that was what had become so appealing about putting on the mask, for a few hours he could pretend—pretend to be nothing and everything all at once.  
  
The Devil smiled, tilted his head back just enough to feel a single bead of sweat run down from his hairline. He wondered for a moment whether it was merely the confinement of the small box that was making him sweat or whether it was the supposed bearing of his soul.  
  
"He doesn't know me though, not all of me at least." The Devil continued on while avoiding the priest's question. "We've only ever met at night when I'm..." His words trailed off, while he knew he was able to speak freely of his crimes and have them remain a secret, there was part of him that didn't want to place the burden of that onto his priest. He'd never explicitly told him that he was the so-called Devil of Hell's Kitchen but by now he was certain that he must have known, there was no need to confirm it.  
  
"This man, is he someone you saved?" The safest thing to do was to think about the positive things the Devil did for the city. Shifting in his seat, the priest kept his eyes firmly on the wooden door in front of him and wondered to himself how it was right that he was unable to say anything to the police about the criminal sat inches away from him.  
  
"Yes." The Devil sounded almost proud, breathless in a relieved sort of way. Now that he was in his life he didn't know how it was possible to ever live without Foggy's heartbeat thumping in his head, what a meaningless life it had been without him. "More than once. He never asked me to but I had to, he wanted me to."  
  
The confessional was quiet for a few moments, the Devil listened closely to the steady beat of his priest's heart as he mulled over what he could possibly say in reply.  
  
"Perhaps it was you who wanted it." The priest said after a good thirty seconds of silence. "This game of martyrs and saviors, you never had to take it so literally. You can do good for this world in other ways, Matthew."  
  
The Devil almost flinched at the sound of his name, it was so rare he heard it when most days his time was spent alone, or with others who knew him merely in the suit. It felt wrong, both sides of him an act which only made it more confusing trying to work out which role would be the right one to play.  
  
"I wanted it too. I like saving people, is that hard to believe?" He didn't like saving people as much as he liked killing them, but he left that part out. It was a confessional and all but maybe some things were better left to rot away.  
  
"If you're seeking forgiveness, one has to actually confess their sins. You can't keep dancing around them." As if reading the Devil's mind, his priest's voice was a sharp reminder of was expected of him when he'd entered the church's walls. On days he felt more demon than man, it was a relief to walk through and not burn into flames on the spot. That wasn't an actual fear the Devil had, of course, but surely if he were so bad then God wouldn't welcome him home?  
  
"I'm not here to talk about my sins." The Devil replied with a dry tone, an obvious contrary to what he'd said upon sitting down in the confessional. His sins were plentiful and he was starting to learn how to bear the weight of them on his shoulders, soon he wouldn't need to keep returning to confession in some eager attempt of doing what was once expected of him.  
  
"You're here to talk about this man?"  
  
The Devil smiled once more and nodded his head into the darkness.  
  
"You should see him, Father." He spoke low, head caught up in the clouds with no tether to pull him back down. "Really, he makes me want to be good. Isn't that crazy? A good man like him, do you think he could teach me how? I'd let him if that was what he wanted. I'd do anything."  
  
The Devil was in love. Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also hi hello ive never actively been to church my only experience of religion was singing songs about being apart of god's family when i was like seven so excuse me if this isnt how confessionals or whatever go!! i also seem to only write this story at like 4am oops


	5. Chapter 5

  
"Do you like them?" The Devil asked, positively grinning ear to ear. He stood beside Foggy's kitchen table, on said table lay a bouquet of red roses with a small card attached. In terms of gifts the Devil could have brought him, flowers somehow remained pretty high on the list along with other such things like dead bodies. He was like a cat, feral enough to spend his nights out on the streets but coming home when he was done playing.

Foggy swallowed the thought of his apartment being home to the Devil.

Without saying anything, Foggy padded slowly across to the table while making sure not to get too close to the Devil. The costume's impact had slowly but surely worn off, now Foggy called him the Devil just because that was all he'd ever known him as. The floorboards squeaked alongside him as he walked, settling to a low groan when he finally stopped.

"I could get these traced." Foggy stated while thumbing the petals to one of the heads of the roses, impossibly soft against his skin. It was a stretch, he could if he wanted to go out to local florists and use his special lawyer powers to see who recently bought red roses, then look through and play spot the Devil.

"Just read the card." The Devil smiled and a shiver ran down Foggy's spin all the way to the heels of his feet. Reluctantly, Foggy let go of the petal and instead reached out for the white card attached to the ribbon tied around the stems.

He flipped the card between his fingers for a few seconds, trying to gain the nerves to read whatever inappropriate message the Devil had asked to be written on there. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good, it couldn't be when Foggy was for the most part certain the Devil didn't like doing good things.

The card was void of anything but one word typed out in a simple black text, yet Foggy felt his stomach both drop and gurgle with the uncomfortable realization of what he was reading. His head whipped around to look to the Devil whose smile had dimmed just a little, he stood with his hands perched on his waist and his head slightly tilted back like he was listening to something intently.

"Surprise." The Devil said and Foggy had never wanted to slap the smug look off of his face as he did right then. Violence wasn't the answer and all that jazz but Foggy didn't enjoy being toyed with. It was the middle of the night, his apartment had been broken into for what felt like the hundredth time and the person breaking in was a known criminal with what appeared to be a schoolgirl crush.

It should have rocked Foggy to his very core, the fact that someone so polar opposite to everything he stood for could for could be under the impression that he would ever like him. Not even just in a romantic way, in any way that wasn't just a professional curiosity. It should have upset him and make him want to call the police but it didn't and unfortunately Foggy knew why.

"I don't believe you." Dropping the card down onto the table like he was burned, Foggy stared at the roses and considered what he was going to do with them. They were nice, the perfect stage of blooming and a pretty red colour, a little too much like blood.

"Can you say it though? Please, for me?" The Devil practically whined, Foggy wouldn't be surprised if he turned and saw him pouting desperately. It wasn't endearing, however, nor was it persuasive. There had been plenty of times where he had been annoyed or angry at the Devil but never quite like this. It felt personal, a personal attack placed on him.

"Why would I do anything for you?" After grabbing the bouquet with little care, Foggy walked around the other side of the table as to avoid the Devil and instead marched into his kitchen. He threw the roses into his sink along the plate and cutlery from dinner. "You don't live here, you know? I should call the police, you can't keep breaking in here and bringing me things like we're friends because we're not."

The Devil didn't follow after him, instead, he slowly moved towards the table and sat down. He didn't sit like he usually did, with his legs spread open and slouched comfortably. There was something poised about him this time, respectable as someone dressed as the Devil could look. He opened his mouth then snapped it closed again, his jaw tightening for a few seconds before gaining the ability to speak again.

"I wasn't lying to you." He reached out and slid his gloved fingertips across the table until they met the card, the thickness of his gloves made it a little difficult to grip but soon enough he was fiddling with it like Foggy had been. "Why do you think I would?"

Foggy stared at him with both annoyance and pity growing inside him. Playing the Devil must have been a lonely gig, he couldn't imagine plenty of people were okay with that as a career choice. Maybe that was why he had decided to torture Foggy with gifts and chaste touches only once he'd been driven crazy, because he was alone.

"Do you remember what I said to you the first time I was here?" The Devil asked when Foggy said nothing in response to his question, he could imagine what the reply would be anyways.

"No." Foggy lied. The Devil smiled.

"I told you that I would tell you who I am when you were ready. It occurred to me that you might not be ever ready, my fault really. I made the decision for you, do with the information as you want." Once the Devil finished speaking, he dropped the card back down on the table and pushed it in Foggy's direction.

A pregnant pause sat in the air until Foggy finally broke it with a sigh. Defeated, he walked out towards the table and sat in the chair closest to the Devil, where the card sat barely perching on the end of the table.

He picked it up once more and flipped it over so the text was facing him, his eyes flickered up to the Devil who from what he could assume was staring at him intently before he looked back down to the card.

"Matthew," Foggy said softly and Matthew sighed. It wasn't a particularly special name, it was one Foggy was sure he'd said plenty of times before in his life but it had never held quite so much weight. "You look like a Matthew."

Matthew smiled so wide it must have hurt, he laughed and the sound made Foggy's chest hurt. He'd heard him laugh before but never so casually before, it wouldn't have been out of place at a family dinner or school reunion. He sounded so utterly normal, with an utterly normal name.

"Do I?" Matthew asked and Foggy stared at him for a few seconds before smiling to himself and shaking his head.

"No, but it sounded like the right thing to say." Matthew laughed and Foggy almost wanted to laugh along with him. "Do you have a last name, Matthew?"

"Matt," Matt clarified. "I do, but you'll have to work for that one."

This time it was Foggy who laughed, it wasn't the same blissed-out laugh that Matt gave but it was a laugh nonetheless so a surge of pride ran through Matt. He dropped the card in favor of running his hand across his face, some attempt at wiping the shock off of it from Matt's cheekiness.

"That's bold, you did just break into my apartment. Though it wouldn't be a jump to assume you've already committed other crimes tonight?" It would have been the perfect opportunity to get some dirt on the guy, not that he needed any when the whole city was aware of Matt- or Daredevil's crimes.

Foggy wondered if there was any difference between the Devil and Matthew, if this was all some elaborate act gone too far or if Matt truly thought he was the Devil. It would be an easy sell to persuade a jury that he was evil but Foggy didn't know if he believed it himself.

"The roses, do you like them?" Matt asked again and Foggy chose to ignore how quickly the conversation had been changed. Instead, he managed a tired smile and with whatever energy he had left, he reached over and lay his hand over Matt's gloved one.

"They're nice." That was enough for Matt, it was more he was ever going to ask for from Foggy and by God, it made him for a few seconds forget that he was the Devil at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, if you have any request for this series do let me know over on my tumblr "nelsonsmurdock" !!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to "CaseLC" who on the last chapter gave me this idea. this is my favourite chapter to date, and i will continue writing this story as long as there are ideas to write!! as always feel free to offer suggestions in the comments or on my tumblr "nelsonsmurdock" and i hope you enjoy!!

The streets of Hell's Kitchen glowed a warm red at night, street lights simmering amongst the dark and neon bar signs shining through glass windows. The effect wore off after a while, only those who were new to New York were amazed by the colours, for Foggy it was something he had seen hundreds of times; scrolling down cherry streets after late nights at the bars, hand in hand with some stranger he'd just met and would probably forget the next day, it became merely daily life.

After whisking a tispy Karen into a taxi and sending her on her way, Foggy found himself choosing to walk home instead of hopping into the taxi that pulled up not seconds later. As messy and hectic Hell's Kitchen could be, it was his home and over the years he had learned how to find beauty in the trash soaked alleyways and glass sparkling on the sidewalk.

For a few blocks, Foggy's head was filled with thoughts of work, tainted by the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He wasn't nearly as drunk as he could have been, nights out with Karen could take a sharp turn if one of them was in a particularly competitive mood but on this night, the drinks had remained slow and steady for the most part.

Eventually, as they always seemed to do, the Devil started dipping his toes into his thoughts. Only he wasn't the Devil anymore, he was Matt and at first, that revelation had been terrifying. Once Matt left his apartment the way he came, the anxiety attack Foggy had been stifling hit at full force and he spent most of the night shaking in his bed.

It had been a few weeks since Matt had last injected himself into Foggy's life, and that was strange. Foggy had become used to expecting to see him every week, sometimes more if dropping him inconspicuous phone calls about where criminals (sometimes dead and sometimes not) counted. While the distance was comforting at times, like most things when it came to Daredevil, Foggy didn't know how he truly felt about it.

For the last week, however, nothing from him. Not even in the news, usually, it would be impossible to get through the news channels without seeing blurry photos of the Devil decked in red plastered everywhere. Now they were all focusing on other so-called vigilantes, Matt had become old news in this dry period.

Foggy didn't consider himself an expert or anything of the sort but he knew it wasn't like Matt to just vanish. From the day he turned up dressed in black, he had been active in one way or another. There had never been more than a few days without a sighting of Daredevil out on the streets and whether Foggy wanted to admit it or not, the thought of Matt being hurt worried him.

His feet slowed to a halt and before Foggy knew exactly what he was doing, he had spun around and started walking in the direction he had just come. He didn't go far, just a few buildings down to an alleyway that looked exactly like the kind Matt liked to brawl in. After peering around to see if anyone was around, Foggy scoffed at himself under his breath and walked into the alley.

With the added bonus of alcohol boosting his already biased choices, Foggy walked over to the dumpster nearer the end of the alley and without a second thought— he kicked it.

"Okay. Now I want to talk!" He yelled up at the rooftops looming over him in some desperate attempt at communication. "So... if you're up there..." Foggy bit his tongue before he could say his name, hating himself just a little more for the protection he was offering someone who didn't necessarily deserve it. "...Daredevil. Do a guy a favor for once."

A second or two of silence past before there was a thump behind him and Foggy whipped around to see Matt, or rather the Devil standing there (not that there was a difference) and Foggy wondered if it was inappropriate to laugh at how his absurd plan worked out.

"You've escalated to stalking, I see." He chose to say instead, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket while observing the sort of, sad puppy thing Matt had going on. He didn't look as intimidating as he usually did, something about how his head was bowed somehow made the Devil look pitiful. "Actually, no. That insinuates you haven't been stalking me from the start, which you have, creep."

There was no maliciousness in the name, despite the fact there probably should have been. Nothing Matt had done had been okay, yet Foggy found it easier to be angry at himself for feeling even a smidge of sympathy than to be angry at Matt for doing all the incredibly illegal things.

"You wanted to talk," Matt stated in an incredibly out of character tone and for a brief second Foggy wondered if he was talking to the same guy who'd been tormented him for the last few months. It was easy to confirm it was with one look at that mouth, Foggy would recognize it anywhere and he hated himself for it.

"I was expecting another creepy tea party in my apartment," Foggy replied before quickly starting to ramble again upon realizing how he sounded. "Not that I wanted it or anything, it's the sort of thing you like doing. No creepy voicemails or roses, no dead criminals on the steps of the precinct..." He went on and Matt continued to look more and more uncomfortable.

"Didn't you want me to stop killing?" Matt took a few steps forward and Foggy didn't step back, didn't even think about it. "That's been the problem, right? The killing, the blood, you didn't like any of it. It scared you."

Foggy's heart felt like it was either going to Hulk smash out of his fucking chest or beat so fast it would eventually stop altogether. How did he explain to himself, yet alone Matt that he didn't hate it. Murder was wrong, it didn't take a lawyer to teach you that but seeing this man dressed in red, with yellowing bruises and bloodstained knuckles, it didn't scare him. It scared him that he _liked_ it.

Whatever their relationship was, it was placed on the foundation that for whatever reason, Foggy didn't have the balls to tell on the Devil. He had never gone to the police or told anyone about this thing between them, never even really considered it outside of threatening Matt.

It was an easy thing to claim it was because he was scared, or because he thought he could be the one get Matt to turn himself in. That wasn't the case though, and as bad of a person it made Foggy feel like, the real reason was that he'd found a fondness for Matt mixed in with the blood and guts. He loved seeing him with a bloody nose, he loved his weight spread out on his couch like he owned the damn placed, loved his voice like honey whiskey and lips chapped yet impossibly kissable and loved and loved and loved.

"You don't scare me." Foggy managed to get out despite his throat starting to feel as though it would close up, whatever his liquid courage had provided for him had dissolved into thin air. Matt let out a low hum and stepped closer once again, Foggy stood his ground.

"This is my way of taking care of you," Matt explained slowly and Foggy thought his knees might give out when he noticed the slight shake to Matt's voice. "I need to do that, okay? It's — I can't...I'm trying to do what you want. I'm trying."

Foggy's eyes darted between the red eyes on the Devil's mask until he blurted out something he knew he wasn't ready to ask for.

"I want to see your face."

The world seemed to mute at that moment, all the cars and music in the distance deafened until all that Foggy could hear was Matt's breathing, the hitch in it before it evened out and his lips drew into a tight line. It was a lot to ask, a lot of trust being placed onto Foggy and more than he had ever wanted. His biggest fear upon realizing the Devil wasn't going anywhere was that he would somehow end up in his pocket, yet here he was willing chaining himself to be his law-abiding partner in crime.

Matt was still for about thirty seconds before he reached up and started to fumble with his mask. Foggy stood watching with wide eyes and a parted mouth, his breath being held not on purpose but rather as a consequence of what he saw when Matt managed to get the mask off.

The Devil was indeed just a man, and he was beautiful.

He was nothing like Foggy had pictured him to be, he was far better and that only made things worse. Now he had a face to put to all the dreams his brain put him through, stupidly pretty brown eyes and freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. His hair stuck up in all directions and Foggy had to look away before he thought about running his hands through it.

It took Foggy longer than it should to realize that Matt wasn't looking at him and that he was fucking blind.

Mumbling something under his breath about being sick, which wasn't exactly the response Matt had been looking for, Foggy ripped his hands out from his pockets and wiped his sweating forehead. When he turned back to look at Matt he regretted his decision instantaneously, no man should make looking worried look so attractive.

"Please tell me this hasn't been some really method actor-y, "justice is blind" type shit because I will be so pissed off." For the first time since Foggy had seen him last, Matt smiled and Foggy wanted to punch him. His smile had already been too pretty to bare with the mask on but without it? Matt lit up, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in a way too cute for the so-called Devil and Foggy couldn't stop himself from melting. It sucked.

"I can explain-"

"Not now." Foggy interrupted before Matt could continue. He had questions up the wazoo but there was only so much he could handle in one night. What he really wanted was the warmth of his bed, and dreams free of the Devil for once in months. "Just...another time."

Matt walked Foggy home, so to speak. He scaled the rooftops in the direction Foggy was walking until he made it back to his apartment, after that he didn't hang around any longer than he needed to because his bed was also calling his name. The sound of Foggy's heartbeat when he'd taken his mask off played on loop in his head, it lulled him to sleep along with the knowledge Foggy wanted to see him again, he'd said it himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Matt thought a lot about Foggy while he killed.

It delighted him in a way that made him sick to his stomach. He would never hurt Foggy, that he knew better than anything but still he slipped into his thoughts while his hands were covered in blood, while there was a lifeless body sat ready to collect flies across the glass stained ground.

The Devil worshiped the same way he killed, with every part of him, without a second thought, until there was nothing left and by God, did he worship Foggy. Matt did not know how to love with anything but with his entire body, had never learned how not give himself fully to a woman, to another man, to God then to the Devil.

Some days, Matt would take off his gloves before finishing the deed. Another rapist, abuser, yet another man trying to take from his city more than she was willing to give and Matt would take off his gloves to be able to feel the blood against his skin. He liked the pain, more than he liked dealing it.

Blood would drip from the raw cuts on his knuckles and he'd think about Foggy cleaning the wounds, laying them with bandage then pressing his lips to each individual ache. He'd help him get rid of the stains as best they could, till the copper in the air had been masked with bleach and artificial lavender. Matt liked the smell of blood but would suffer through the cleaning chemicals for Foggy.

He didn't kill because he enjoyed it, it was meant to be an effective means to an end but that didn't take the fun out of it. Matt's life had been a series of taking traumatic situations and attempting to flip them on their head till something worthwhile fell out, embracing the Devil had been just another one of those attempts.

And on days where he felt more Devil than man, he reminded himself how the city was a better and safer place with him in it. They might not have liked his methods but a necessary evil was still a blessing to have.

Sometimes wondered about retreating back from the leather and the horns. The city had called him a Devil and the Devil he became but there was a level of invincibility with the label that he never wanted. What's the use of risking your life when your life can never truly be on the line? Matt didn't go out seeking injury or death, the rush however when he just managed to avoid it was addictive and undeniable.

For Foggy, he'd tried to cut back. He'd tried to soften his punches and loosen his grip, done whatever it was he felt he could do to prevent more blood being spilled on the streets. For a few weeks it felt good, he liked doing things that would make Foggy happy or proud however he didn't always know when to stop. Along with that, Matt could only hold off for so long until the urges came back swinging.

As much as Matt wanted to please Foggy, make it possible that he'd accept him into his life without having to bribe his way in there, Matt didn't think what he was doing was wrong.

On the most basic and fundamental level, he believed with his whole heart and soul that he was benefiting his city more than he was tearing it apart. Mothers were safe from their abusers, little girls were going to sleep without crying into their pillows, Matt wasn't spending his days locked up in his apartment trying to drown out the screaming and the sobbing— how could that be wrong?

"You can explain whole blind thing now if you don't mind?" Foggy had asked one night after finding Matt sculking outside his apartment and then for whatever reason and much to Matt's delight went on to invite him inside to share his leftovers. They sat on Foggy's couch, Matt's mask left forgotten on the kitchen table while they ate mostly in silence, that was until Foggy piped up with his question.

So Matt told him. He started off with the accident, all the nights spent in the hospital with his dad by his side, then, of course, had to tell him about his dad. It wasn't easy to talk about but with Foggy, he wasn't afraid of the repercussions, instead, he continued on and on till Foggy's breath caught in his throat.

"Murdock..." He muttered in the same way Matt whispered "Devil" under his breath when he was alone. "I—uh. I remember the story, you saving that old guy. Used to think you were a hero when I was a kid."

"Oh," Matt said simply. People called him a hero all the time, they also called him a murderer and criminal in the same sentence so he never really took it to heart. Foggy though, he thought was a hero, or had done at some point in his life and it made Matt's chest swell with pride till he couldn't breathe.

Foggy stared across at Matt and tried to work out what was going on in his head, the twisting look on his face didn't exactly fill him with confidence. He never imagined that after finding the Devil unwelcome in his apartment all those months ago that he'd ever invite him in willing, or that he'd tell him without little fear that he knew who he was.

"I'm not going to turn you in to the cops, if that's what you're worried about." Foggy leaned across to the coffee table and slid the now empty bowl onto it. "Pretty sure they wouldn't believe me even if I did."

"Thanks." Matt breathed out a laugh and copied Foggy actions, his knuckles bumping against the table as he placed his bowl down. Slowly but surely he was learning the layout of Foggy's apartment, it was certainly easier now that he didn't have to hide his blindness. Not to say that he was hiding before, if Foggy for whatever reason would have asked he would have told him, without question.

Silence soon filled the room, heavy in the air as both men reflected on how on earth they'd ended up where they were. It was Matt who eventually spoke up, nervously picking at the threads coming loose on the blanket Foggy had draped across the back of the couch.

"Why aren't you going to the police?" Matt asked upon Foggy getting up from the couch, then stuttering to a halt just to spin round to look at Matt. "Are you scared I'd hurt you if you tried?"

"No," Foggy answered immediately and Matt knew he wasn't lying. The knot in his throat loosened but something still felt not quite right, he had his reasons for protecting Foggy but he couldn't or didn't want to believe Foggy's reasons for protecting him; if that was what he was doing. "I just...don't know if you're as much of a Devil as I thought. Or as you make out to be."

Matt knew that Foggy was wrong, that he was, in fact, whatever being the Devil entailed and a week or two of no killing didn't make up for the blood soaked into the lines of his hands. It didn't change his past or his future, it didn't change the fact that he took immense pleasure in the role he played and would likely never stop unless he missed the sound of a gun being cocked.

Still, if anyone else would have said that to Matt then he might have considered ripping out their tongue, might have even done it if that were possible but with Foggy, it didn't hurt. Matt had put everything into being the Devil that Hell's Kitchen needed and he didn't mind the insinuation that he was in fact, just a man playing make-believe.

"I wouldn't hurt you if you ever do decide to go, I'd understand," Matt said once Foggy returned, a glass of water in hand. He listened to the steady thump of Foggy's heart, his hungry stomach now silent and his breath warm and relaxed.

This was not the same man who had shook upon finding the Devil waiting for him in the shadows, Matt for a second almost felt disappointed Foggy no longer felt...scared. He didn't want him to be scared but there was an element of power there, being able to grin with pride when he got Foggy to give up a little of his sanity.

Was he getting bored? Had the thrill worn off and now he had been left with the dead mouse instead of the cat who'd brought it in? Matt swallowed as Foggy sat back down on the couch, still curled up on the opposite end from him.

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind, in case you ever break in here again." There was something in Foggy's voice that Matt had never heard from him before. He knew the tremble of fear, denial, that exhale of relief or of letting his fight become lost but this might have been if he prayed hard enough, hopefulness. Like maybe, Foggy didn't want Matt to break in anymore because he was welcome, he could knock and Foggy would answer.

Matt thought about Foggy while he killed but he also thought about him while he lay in bed. He thought about laying next to him and running his fingertips down his spine, he wanted to learn each freckle and bump, wanted to run his palms across his body like it was the map to all the answers he needed.

He knew he was a criminal, a monster, he was the Devil for crying out loud but Matt still thought about loving Foggy every night before he went to bed. So what did that make him really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good to know the dd writers took a look at my fic to get the inspiration for season three (that dd teaser? total dark matt y'all are welcome) adfghj im joking, but seriously it gave me such a good boost to get back on the horse with this story. as always, check me out on tumblr at "nelsonsmurdock" and i hope you enjoy!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch, i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.
> 
> so before we get into the story, this chapter was heavily influenced by season three of daredevil so if you haven't watched yet, this clearly isnt what happens in the season but there's some spoilers to plot points. it's been out over a month now so yall cant blame me.
> 
> as always, check me out on tumblr at "nelsonsmurdock" and i hope you enjoy!!

Matt never wanted to hurt Foggy, never. Maybe scare him a little, get his heart racing but that was it. It was only out of love, or maybe something different because Matt didn't know if he was even allowed to use that word, not when everything he loved had a habit of leaving him. Admiration then, an intense curiosity, whatever it was though, it was never malicious.

How could he explain that to Foggy? Especially when he considered the fact he was bleeding out on his couch, only there because he'd been pulled off of the floor he'd collapsed onto. Foggy was too good to him, Matt knew that and always had. He didn't deserve any of his patience, he should have been rotting away in a jail cell yet here he was, continuing to ruin his only friend's life.

Foggy was scared. He could smell it, the scent of sweat heady in the air. His heart was pounding, almost identical to how he'd sounded upon the first time Matt had broken into his apartment, only this time he knew what to expect. Matt wanted to gouge his eardrums out at the sound of Foggy sniffing, trying to hold back tears— it was the worst thing he'd ever heard.

"You know, I should have expected this." God, he sounded so disappointed. It made Matt's stomach curdle, tears spring in the corners of his eyes. He stared blankly up at the ceiling and tried desperately to focus on the aches in his body, each bruised rib and swollen knuckle a pain he deserved. "I...I really tried, Matt. I did."

"I know." Matt's voice shook, he'd never heard himself sound quite so small. He didn't care, not if it meant showing Foggy that he was sorry, not for what he had done but for letting him down. The addict is never sorry for doing the drugs, they're sorry for being an addict in the first place, there's a difference.

Wilson Fisk was dead, it was all over the news, the majority claiming that justice had finally been served. He'd been let out of prison due to some bullshit deal he cut but it didn't last long, a few days in his cushy penthouse and he got a visit from the Devil. He had barely gotten out before the FBI had realized their precious Kingpin was a bloody mess on the floor, he'd put up a good fight but in the end, the Devil always prevailed.

Foggy hated Fisk as much as the next person but it didn't mean he wanted him to be murdered. He wanted justice, the right, and lawful way. That was what he was going to get, he had been working on it from the second he heard that Fisk had been let out of jail but Matt had to come along and ruin it, he had to think his way was the only right way and turn Fisk into some kind of martyr.

Deep down, Foggy knew he deserved this failure. That's what you get when you make a deal with the Devil after all, and he'd been stupid to think that Matt was anything but the Devil. He'd allowed Matt to continue, countless people's deaths sat on his back because he'd had to go and develop a schoolgirl crush on a psychopath, it was his fault Wilson Fisk was dead and Devil knows how many more.  
  
Not only did Foggy have all that ready and waiting to eat him alive, but he also had the obvious fact that a wanted criminal was camping out in his living room. He'd seen him bloody before but never like this, Devil suit in a pile beside the couch while Matt laid splayed out, bruised chest on display and bloodstained hands clutching at his side. Whether it was intentional or not, Matt had put Foggy in danger and that was a hard fact to get over.

"I— I had to, Foggy. I didn't want to but—"

"Don't lie to me, don't do that," Foggy barely managed to say before having to sit down, perching himself on the arm of his armchair. "You wanted him dead, that's the truth. And I bet you enjoyed it too. It's who you are, Matt. I was stupid to think otherwise." To think, Foggy had considered Matt to have good intentions, to not be the Devil he portrayed himself to be, maybe he'd been trying to tell Foggy all along but he just didn't want to listen.

"It's not." Matt's face crumbled, his beautiful face a mess of dried blood and wet with tears, only falling down his cheeks as he continued to plead with Foggy, for what though, he wasn't sure. "I didn't want to but he was going to hurt people, Foggy. He was going to hurt more people and I couldn't let that happen."

Before he could comprehend what he was doing, Foggy was up from his seat and was marching over to where Matt was laid. He crouched down beside the couch, face close enough to Matt's that he could kiss him if he really wanted.

"No bullshit, understand me? Or you can go bleed out on the sidewalk for all I care." Matt nodded weakly, his blank eyes continuing to stare up at the ceiling, his eyelashes wet with tears. "First question, why me? Why have you been following me, why pick me in the first place? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Matt wasn't sure if he'd ever been heartbroken before, most people didn't get close enough to have that kind of effect on him. He was starting to think that perhaps it was a good plan, not letting people in because he'd been in pain before, horrific pain he couldn't bare but this? Foggy's disappointment and anger, whatever affection had once been there now gone for good? Nothing would ever compare to the agony.

"People like you." Matt started shakily, Foggy noticed the slight tremble in his hand but said nothing. "Everyone likes you, I hear your name everywhere across the city, you're impossible to ignore. I wanted to know you, I wanted to understand why you're so loved."

"So that night in the alley, when you saved me for the first time, you already knew who I was?" Matt nodded once again. Foggy didn't know how he should have felt about Matt's confession, he knew for a fact that the guy was lonely and probably just wanted to be loved but God, he went about it the completely fucking wrong way.

Then again, he was in Foggy's apartment and had been so multiple times, they'd eaten together and shared stories. Foggy knew he'd been more intimate with Matt than he had been past partners and that was saying a lot since they'd barely touched. It might not have been the wrong way, just not conventional.

"Fine. Second question...what does it feel like when you kill someone?"

Did Foggy really want to know the gory details? Of course not but he needed to know how Matt felt, he had to work out whether or not he'd been making mistake after mistake in inviting Matt into his life repeatedly, never being able to actually commit to saying no.

Matt's lip trembled as he tried to think of some way of avoiding Foggy's question, digging his nails into the soft skin on his side to try and ground him. For whatever absurd reason, from the second they'd met Foggy had kept his secret, even when he didn't know he was keeping it. He'd had so many opportunities to go to the police and he took none of them, Matt didn't care about the police now but if Foggy knew, if he truly knew what he thought about and the joy he got while killing, he saw no outcome where it didn't leave Foggy scared and running as far away as he could.

"Powerful," He said quietly, the shake in his voice almost masking his words completely. "It— it makes me feel powerful."

Foggy was quiet apart from the occasional sniff, his fingers gliding against his cheeks as he wiped away the stray tears he didn't manage to bite back. He'd asked, after all, he couldn't be upset with the response he'd gotten when he had known it was a possibility. Besides, it wasn't anything he had thought himself. He'd spent hours contemplating Matt's motivations behind being the Devil, trying to coax himself into a false sense of security by telling himself that Matt had good intentions yet again.

"Fair enough." Foggy almost laughed albeit a bitter one and the sound made Matt's chest hurt. He would have done anything, absolutely anything right then to hear Foggy laugh for real. "Final question, can you stop?" It was then Foggy realized that he too was shaking, a gentle tremble settling in his hands. "If you really tried, Matt. If you just tried a little harder could you stop? Stop hurting people, even if they deserve it, could you do that? For me?"

Matt bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, adding to the already coppery taste in his mouth. He promised he'd never lie to Foggy but the truth hurt so much more, either way, he came out as the monster, as the Devil. He'd convinced himself that it was just who he was, and that was how everyone was going to see him but Foggy hadn't, or at least he'd started to see past all the red. That had all gone to shit, and it was all his fault.

"Foggy, please." Matt throat already felt red raw, his voice slowly falling from his grasp and he only wished it vanished completely. At least he couldn't hurt Foggy that way, he couldn't make things worse. It wasn't even his intention to go to Foggy's place, he didn't remember making the decision but could he be surprised? "I can't— please don't ask me to do that. I can't do it, I'm sorry."

Foggy's stomach dropped and suddenly he was standing up, he took a few shaky steps away from the couch before Matt erupted into begging, wet and desperate.

"No. No— no, Foggy, please. Please, I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry— I love you just, please, please don't leave me." He didn't sound like a murderer, or the Devil. He sounded like a scared little boy, so alone in the world there was no point in having any shame, no care in sounding pathetic. Which he did, Foggy had to admit he sounded pathetic and it didn't help the case he was trying to build.

"Christ, Matt. I'm not leaving." Foggy sat back down on the armchair, clutching the arm in an attempt to calm his shaking hands. He wasn't built for dealing with this kind of stuff, all he wanted a simple life with his simple job, not babysitting for the Devil. It was moments like this he was glad he wasn't religious, at least there would be some peace after everything was over.

He stared across at Matt and all he saw were the videos of Fisk that had leaked online, the Devil faster and more ruthless than he'd ever been. Foggy saw Matt and saw the Devil, he wanted to cry at the thought of ever thinking he was anything but. Still, there was a pity he still held for Matt— he truly did kill everything around him.

"Oh." Matt breathed in what felt like the first time in years before turning his head slowly in Foggy's direction, his head pounding with the rhythm of which it'd been slammed against the wall. He'd always liked pain, partly because he thought he deserved it. Foggy didn't deserve pain and he certainly didn't deserve to be given any of Matt's.

Despite knowing Matt was blind, Foggy couldn't help but think he could see him, maybe only him. His eyes were blank and looking a little left of him but still, it felt like the first time someone had ever actually seen him. Because all bets were off, there was no point hiding any of the ugly anymore, Foggy might not have been the one covered in blood but he might as well have been.

"Are you going to kill me?" Foggy watched as Matt physically cringed, closing his eyes once again as though that would help shield him from what Foggy was saying. "Because I'm calling the police, Matt. You can't....you can't be allowed to keep doing this. I should have called them a long time ago but I didn't, because I thought you were changing; I thought I could help you."

"I promised you, Foggy. I-I promised you. I'm never going to hurt you— never."

The worst thing about it was Foggy believed Matt, which meant he had to turn him in. What else was there to do? He was a damn lawyer, his entire adult life had been spent defending the innocent and proving who the guilty are and he couldn't throw that away for Matt, not anymore.

By the time Foggy returned back to the living room after getting his phone, Matt was gone. The only evidence he'd been there in the first place was the blood stains on his couch and floor, his suit gone as well except for his mask, which sat on the coffee table where Foggy had put it.

It was as he replayed what had just happened in his head that a dawning realization came over him and swiftly kicked all the air out from his lungs. Foggy felt his legs begin to shake as he stumbled backwards and sat down on the couch, still warm from where Matt had been laying. Before he could stop himself, his head was in his hands and his chest heaved with each heavy sob he let out.

_I'm sorry, I love you._


	9. Chapter 9

"I know who Daredevil is," Foggy said after Karen sat him back down on his couch, a mug of hot coffee trembling in his hands. The words spilt out before he could stop them, through chattering teeth and a tongue aching from where he'd bitten into it earlier. Karen froze in front of him, hand still half extended out from where it had been resting on his shoulder and she stared at him.

It had been a long night for Foggy, from Matt's bloody disappearance to the panic attack that swiftly followed. At some point, he'd called Karen in the midsts of a wet sobbing fit and she'd promised to come over as soon as she could. A small sense of relief filled him at the thought of not being alone, then he realised what a bloody mess his apartment was, literally, and the fact he had the Devil's mask sat on his coffee table like a fancy new decoration.

He managed to tidy up in time before Karen was timidly knocking at his door, by then though his panic had only increased and no words could be shared as he opened his front door and tumbled into her arms. It was early, he'd kept away from the phone as long as possible with thoughts of calling the police haunting him but Karen was a safe bet, she was his friend and he trusted her.

Still, he hadn't intended on saying anything about his relationship with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. That was going to be a secret he took to the grave and long after that as well, not only because it put him in jeopardy but Matt as well. His stomach curdled at the though the was still protecting him even after everything he'd done and Karen continued to stare at him, big blue eyes all wide and desperate to work out if Foggy had really lost his mind.

"...Daredevil?" She said slowly as to not rattle him too much. There had been something going on with him for months now but Karen had never managed to work out what it was exactly. Foggy wasn't a closed book, they could talk about anything with each other and she appreciated that since she didn't have all that many friends, the same went for him. Still, she couldn't quite make herself believe that Foggy had somehow become buddies with a mass murderer roaming the streets in Devil horns.

"He's been stalking me," Foggy said after a few moments pause. While he was still battling with the thoughts of calling the police as he had threatened, telling Karen was different. He hated secrets, the only reason he'd kept Matt's for so long as because... well he still didn't truly understand why but it had been slowly rising up inside him until he was splitting at the seams. He had to tell someone and Karen was the only person he'd ever consider trustworthy enough. "For months now, on and off."

Karen continued to stare at Foggy before slowly sitting down beside him, taking the coffee cup to put on the table so she could instead grab his hands. Despite wanting to recoil, Foggy let her hold him as she continued to stare him, eyes darting across his face as though she were trying to find the clues she needed to answer her abundance of questions. Eventually, she spoke up.

"I can't tell if I want you to be lying to me or not." She said and Foggy agreed. It would be much easier if he were lying, if this were all some big hoax he'd been planning for months just for the sake of having a laugh. He wished that were the case more than he'd wished for anything before, if it had been he could go back to his life where everything was normal and average and there was no blood staining every part of his home.

How was he to explain everything that had happened when he could barely explain it to himself? When she questioned why he hadn't told the authorities, let alone her about his interactions with the Devil, what was he meant to say? There was no good answer to make up for his lack of action, there was only the truth and he could only hope that Karen of all people would respect that.

Foggy wiggled his hands out from Karen's grip despite her protests and stood up, disappearing into his room for a few moments before coming back with Daredevil's mask in hand. He held it like a bomb, as though it might explode with any harsh movement and then carefully placed it down on the coffee table beside his mug. They both stared at it silently, Karen significantly more shocked than Foggy who seemed tired more than anything.  
  
"I wish I was lying," Foggy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before hesitantly sitting back down on the couch beside Karen whose eyes remained fixated on the mask sat before her. His hands still shook gently with the adrenaline pumping wild through his veins, the taste of his panic attack still heady on his tongue but he sat there and waited for Karen to say something, anything.

Karen's face twitched before she turned to look at Foggy, eyebrows furrowed and eyes darting across his face before. He'd seen this look before, the cliff's edge of realisation and unfortunately, Karen wasn't afraid of heights. Her jaw clenched and she turned her whole body in his direction, her hands balled up into fists on her lap, nails digging into her palms.

"Months? You— you've kept this from me for months?" She hissed and for a second Foggy wondered if being turned to stone was an ideal end to this situation. It wasn't malicious, it wasn't about a scoop for the paper or her own chance to meet the Devil again, this was personal, "Why would you do that? What if he had hurt you?"

"He wouldn't," Foggy replied without a second of hesitation. He might not have trusted Matt but he believed him most of the time, he wasn't a liar and that counted for something at least. Karen frowned before reaching out and grabbing Foggy's hands once more, sweaty and warm beneath her touch. She squeezed and Foggy's mouth tightened into a line.

"How can you know that?" What if he had been hurt, what if the Devil had decided to chew him up and spit him back out? How was Karen supposed to live with the knowledge that she'd done nothing to help him, and most importantly what on earth had lead the Devil of Hell's Kitchen to target her best friend? He'd never done anything wrong in his entire life, he was good to the core and while no one deserved to have their life ended in some dirty alley, no one deserved it less than him.

Foggy briefly pondered over if he should have said anything at all, whether suffering in silence was and had always been his best bet. Karen's eyes were glossy and wide, mascara she hadn't quite managed to scrub off smudged around the corner of her eyes and suddenly Foggy felt so incredibly selfish for bringing her into this. He swallowed and gave her hands a small squeeze in return, the best he could manage.

"He..." Foggy paused, let out a drawn-out sigh before continuing, "...he promised me." Karen, in turn, furrowed her eyebrows together, lines drawing out deep on her forehead.

"Who is he?" At that moment she sounded so small, like the quiet footsteps taken by the hunter as to not shake the timid dear, it was voice she had used often but never on Foggy. A series of emotions ran across his face, each one stronger than the last before finally settling on exhaustion. He wiggled his hands out from hers once more and lay them across his lap, then leaning back and collapsing into a heap on the couch.

Closing his eyes, Foggy pictured Matt in his head. A softer version this time, no bloody mouth or bruised ribs, he instead pictured what he was to look like in the early morning light. His hair fluffy and glowing warm through the sunlight streaming in through the window, the freckles Foggy imagined trailed down his back like a path to the dimples perched on the dip of his back, he pictured Matt amongst white sheets where he could look no further away from being the Devil.

"Foggy, who is he? I mean— would you recognise him? Did he say his name or anything? He must have said something—" Karen continued on after getting no reply from Foggy except the peaceful look that flashed across his face. Before she could grill him for any more information, another sigh escaped from his lips and he was speaking.

"He did," Foggy stated and peeked his eyes open to see Karen gaping at him, clearly expecting him to give her the details. He swallowed once again, throat dry from nerves before continuing on, "He told me his name, showed me his face, all of it." After giving a dry and obviously fake chuckle, he gestured back towards the kitchen where a vase of dead roses sat on the table. "Oh, he also got me flowers."

Before he'd finished speaking, Karen was up on her feet and had practically galloped into the kitchen to inspect the flowers. Despite their wilted petals shedding across the table, Foggy couldn't bring himself to throw them away. There was something still beautiful about them despite being dead and drooping, still a blood red colour. Foggy peered over his shoulder and watched as Karen searched for something, anything that would indicate who had gifted the roses to Foggy— the card was tucked away in Foggy's bedside table, however.

Karen spluttered something in confusion before turning back to Foggy. She expected to see him filled with fear, scared of reliving what she assumed to be his petrifying experiences with the Devil but he looked almost blissful. Whatever panic he had been in when she first arrived had melted away, left behind some kind of understanding that she wasn't in on. Because she didn't understand, not one bit. She was used to confusing stories but this was on another level, mostly because Foggy didn't seem nearly as terrified as he should have been.

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you?" She asked hesitantly as she made her way over to the couch, Foggy nodded his head before reaching out to grab the coffee cup left on the table. Karen watched with narrowed eyes as Foggy took a careful sip, letting the liquid warm his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. "You'd tell me if he had, right? If he was threatening you or..."

"I would," Foggy said truthfully. He wondered where Matt was, whether the Devil was cold out on the streets while he was inside warming his insides with the most fanciful coffee he could bear to buy. Was that fair? Another sip followed, his grip of the mug tightened as well. "But he's not, he didn't."

"Who is he?" It was Karen's turn to interrupt, allowing him no time for Foggy to even try and dance around excuses. When he said nothing, his lips tightening together with a pitiful look painted across his face, it was then Karen's turn to bark out a laugh. "Foggy, he's a murderer. You need to tell someone."

Foggy chose to stare across at the mask perched on his table, sitting there in all it's stupid horned glory. What if Matt were to have fallen from one of those high rooftops he insisted on bounding over? What if in the middle of a fight someone got free long enough to whack him across the head? The familiar sense of panic settled in his chest at the thought that he could be to blame if Matt wounded up dead.

"I know." After a sad smile briefly graced his face, he looked over to Karen who wore her worry like her best dress, there was no hiding what he had placed onto her shoulders. She too tried to smile but it barely reached her cheeks, her eyes too watery still to ever make him believe she was okay with the bad decisions he'd made. "I will, I promise."

Karen left not much later despite her protests after constant reassurance from Foggy that he was going to be okay, and after she had checked the locks on all his windows and doors twice. Matt's mask still sat on the table and Foggy caught her glance to it every now and then as she was getting ready to go, probably wondering how he had gotten it in the first place but knowing he'd never give a straight answer. She didn't get any answers for that matter but she'd always been good at finding them herself, she hoped Foggy could help though if he ever got out of the state she imagined he'd worked himself into.

After watching her taxi disappear amongst the other early birds living in Hell's Kitchen, Foggy grabbed his coat and threw it on. He stuffed Matt's mask into the first bag he could find and slung it over his shoulder. Moments later his apartment was empty, sun shining in onto his empty bed and roses still rotting away in their vase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter left babies!! i was thinking of perhaps doing a second series depending on the response to the ending, so i guess we'll have to wait and see!
> 
> check me out on tumblr at ["nelsonsmurdock"](http://nelsonsmurdock.tumblr.com/) and on [ patreon](https://www.patreon.com/peachmaisie) !!


	10. Chapter 10

It didn't take a lot of searching to find Matt's apartment, not when Foggy had already previously figured out where he lived. It had never been his intention though to go visit, it was always just a backup plan of some kind or some extra information when he finally convinced himself to go to the cops. In fact, he avoided that part of town completely, always tried to take whatever route he could that wouldn't lead him too close to temptation.

Yet here he was, stood outside his front door with the Devil's mask in a bag thrown over his shoulder. Foggy swallowed, knowing full well that if Matt was inside, then there was more of a possibility than not that his presence had been made well aware. Still, something inside of Foggy had clicked after his conversation with Karen and it pushed him forward to knock on the door without hesitation.

When there was no reply, he tried again. After the third time knocking and having there be no reply, Foggy briefly considering kicking the door down. That thought was quickly dispelled as he remembered he didn't particularly want to break any one of his toes and instead continued to stare at the door, willing it to open. When, of course, it didn't, Foggy tried the handle for the sake of saying he'd tried it all.

The door opened with a click and Foggy immediately retreated, his hand dropping from the door handle as though he had been burned. It continued to creak open before slowly coming to a halt, revealing the inside of Matt's apartment. Foggy gaped at the open door, shocked but not surprised that Matt would not bother to lock his front door, if he could do a kickflip then maybe he wouldn't have invested in fancy locks.

It didn't occur to him that perhaps Matt had left it purposefully unlocked, that maybe he had been expecting this, waiting for him. After looking around to make sure there were no prying eyes, Foggy walked blissfully unaware into Matt's apartment and shut the door, unaware that he would be leaving a different person entirely.

Foggy peaked down the hallway that lead into Matt's apartment and with no sight of the Devil around, he slowly began to walk down. The living room was empty, the couch like his own now was decorated in blood stains, some newer than others. Slipping his bag from his shoulder, Foggy tossed it onto said couch with little interest. There was too much to look at, so much to learn and who knew how much time he had before Matt arrived back from whatever dumpster he was rotting in.

The door leading to his bedroom was left wide open, his bed exposed with the sheets messy and tempting to crawl into. As Foggy crept in, he noticed the bible sat on the bedside table along with a dirty alarm clock and a string of rosary beads. He traced across the tatty cover of the bible, it was dog-eared and clearly well used; he wondered how often Matt prayed, whether he did it before or after becoming the Devil for the night. Which would help ease the distress of sinning most?

He didn't know what he was looking for in particular, the most mundane of things had now become so very interesting. Was there anyone else whose closet Foggy would have cared to look through? Not even the most loved of girlfriends had him stroking their shirts with careful fingertips, running his thumb over the braille labels hanging above them. Maybe that was a good thing, perhaps some things were better-left ordinary.

It was hard to picture Matt outside of the whole Devil look he had conjured up. That face along with a freshly pressed suit, Foggy could only imagine he got everything he asked for, and then some. Or perhaps not since he had decided to seek justice on the streets of Hell's Kitchen, whatever his normal life had to offer just wasn't enough anymore and Foggy was slowly starting to understand. He wasn't about to hop into the gym and work on his karate but he could see the appeal, even if he wanted to disagree with the actions taken.

Almost everything in Matt's apartment was functional, he held no need for decorations or memories put on display. His home while large and frankly Foggy's dream, it was lonely. The couch looked rarely used if not only to be bled on, fanciful spices and seasonings with their matching braille labels sat collecting dust across Matt's kitchen, there was no sense of happiness or joy taken in life. Everything was purposeful and therefore, the meaning had already been placed for him.

Foggy retreated back to the bedroom after walking around the rest of Matt's apartment, spotting no sight of him or his suit. He collapsed down on the bed with a thud, bouncing ever so slightly on the tired mattress. The sheets were silk and felt ridiculously expensive, the nicest thing Foggy had ever touched. He thought on how many people had laid there beneath Matt, had been given the pleasure of writhing on the sheets while the Devil tended to their every desire.

Before he knew what he was doing, Foggy was flat on his back, feet still touching the floor but now staring up at the textured ceiling. That seemed to be a running theme when it came to Matt, he never knew what he was doing. At one point in time that would have scared him, he had grown to like and crave organisation and comfort, he liked law and order and being the one to help enforce those.

Now? Working felt impossible when he'd already let his morals down, countless people were dead because of him and his desire to protect Matt. That was a fact he couldn't hide from anymore, he had to face the reality that he wasn't the victim, wasn't the hostage desperate to escape. The Devil hadn't brought him into his bed, Foggy had climbed into it on his own accord.

He had spent nights tossing and turning, either stuck in dreams about the Devil or wide awake and sweating out his guilt. On Matt's bed, however, Foggy felt more comfortable than he had done in months. It had nothing to do with the sheets either, albeit their silkiness not lost on him. In fact, Foggy found his eyes growing heavy from the already long day, he hadn't slept in what felt like days and the exhaustion from his outburst with Karen was only now starting to weigh him down.

Matt could return any second, he might have already known Foggy was in his apartment and yet it didn't turn Foggy's stomach. He didn't feel scared or like he was doing anything wrong. Matt had broken into his apartment more times than he could count, he was simply returning the favour. He shifted on the mattress and lay his hands across his stomach, letting his eyes drift closed and he pictured what it felt like to be Matt, to be the Devil and be alone in the world. He had so much space in his bed and yet only one slept in it, could Foggy blame him for seeking him out if this was his lonely, dark life?

It was only at the sound of the front door slowly creaking open that Foggy awoke from his half sleep, groggily snapping up only to be met with the blurry sight of Matt, barely across the threshold of his apartment entrance.

When his sight settled and the breath returned to his lungs, Foggy took in the sight of Matt looking more normal than he'd ever seen. Dark glasses sat perched on his round nose, the red suit had been replaced with grey sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt that looked impossibly soft. He looked totally average, gentle and broken and utterly beautiful.

With cane in hand, Matt slowly stepped forward and closed his door behind him. His movements were stiff, not particularly surprising when Foggy considered the last time he'd seen Matt only hours ago, half dead and bleeding out on his couch. At least he wasn't dead, maybe that would have answered some of Foggy's dilemmas but he'd much rather suffer with them for the rest of his life than live in a world without the Devil lingering over his shoulder.

Foggy heaved out a sigh before pulling himself up from the bed, briefly stretching his arms out above his head before walking out from the bedroom without an ounce of fear or anxiety. Matt continued to stand by the door, not watching him like the predator but rather the prey, not waiting to strike but waiting for his opponent's next move.

"Sit down." He ordered weakly with a gesture towards the couch. Matt obliged, doing as he was told for what felt like the first time in his adult life. He walked over to the couch as quickly as he could without breaking any of the mediocre stitches he managed to do on himself, all still raw and aching. Once he was down, he took the bag Foggy had previously tossed down and cradled it within his arms, feeling out the indentations of his mask from within.

After a few moments of simply staring at Matt, Foggy turned and made his way to the kitchen, leaving Matt sat alone and unwilling to do anything but sit there. While he had prayed that Foggy would come to understand, that he would not have to live the rest of his life detached from the one person who made him want to try and be good, God had rarely answered his prayers or at least not in the way he wished for.

"Want some tea?" Foggy asked nonchalantly while searching through the cupboards, looking for the old box of teabags he had spotted during his previous treasure hunt. Matt gave a hum in response, half listening to Foggy's activities and half too stuck in his own head to give any real sort of answer. He sat there listening to the water boiling and the steady thumping of Foggy's heart, no indication that he was in any way scared like the last time they played tea party.

Cradling two mugs with chipped edges within his hands, Foggy brought the tea back into the living room where Matt still sat awaiting his return. He placed both down on the coffee table decorated in stains from the rims of glasses and then sat down beside Matt, almost finding it within him to smile at the furrowed look plastered across his handsome face.

"How's the pain?" Foggy asked and Matt twitched, as though he had forgotten about it completely until being reminded. He gave a small smile, a tilt of his head and a shrug of his shoulders. It hadn't been even close to twenty-four hours since Matt had found himself collapsed in Foggy's apartment after his fight with Fisk ended in his favour and yet it felt like years since he'd last been with Foggy, an eternity even.

"Better now." Matt loosened his hold on his mask and instead placed it down beside the couch, grunting at the strain put on his ribs, bruising what he imagined to be a nasty yellowy purple across his whole side. He didn't mind the pain though, he still felt as though he deserved it; Fisk deserved what happened to him but Foggy didn't and for that, Matt was fine to suffer. "And you?"

Foggy contemplated for a moment. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. His whole body hurt, his throat still sore from the heaving sobs he had let out amongst the panic attack brought on by Matt's disappearance. It felt as though he had run a marathon through a city on fire, breathing in all the smoke and letting his skin bubble and scab over until the nerved burned out. Logically, he knew he wasn't fine and that it was the perfectly normal way to be considering the circumstances.

"You know what I've realised?" Foggy asked and Matt shook his head, turning his body to face Foggy and with his eyes focused somewhere around his neck. "This entire time I was convinced I had to be scared of you, that there was no other sane option. To be fair, the whole Devil in the dead of night thing isn't exactly a lullaby but it gets old surprisingly quickly."

The corners of Matt's mouth turned up in a small smile, only for a couple of seconds as though that was all the happiness he allowed for himself. His hand rested down on the space between them, fingers twitching with what Foggy knew was the desire to reach out and touch him, but he still had so much he needed to say. There were months and months of questions and answers and guilty confessions swimming around in him that if he didn't spit them all out now, then he might as well drown.

"At the start though? Yeah, can't say I was a fan of the whole thing you got going on but the thrill of it started to die off eventually. The weird part is, I still felt scared and that's what confused me the most. It's like— I'm scared of you but I'm not, like, how does that even work?"

Matt swallowed. He thought back to how sick he'd felt at the thought of Foggy becoming bored of him, nothing had ever left him filled with such dread before and yet how the times had changed. He didn't want to be scary. He could live with becoming a constant, unremarkable thing in Foggy's life if he got to be in it at all. It was more than he deserved, but Foggy had taught him how to hope for better things.

"I don't know," Matt replied, voice small and soft and oh so human.

"I realised that I wasn't scared of you being the Devil, I was scared of the fact I was more than willing to live with that," Foggy said through one long breath, his heart hammering within his chest at his confession finally free in the world. Before Matt could respond in any way, Foggy had continued on, "Listen, I can't say I'm all fine and dandy with how you handle things, surprising I know but I still don't think murdering people is the answer. I just... I can't spend the rest of my life judging you, you know?"

Matt shook his head, both desperately wanting Foggy to forgive him for each and every flaw he'd cultivated yet also wanting him to go out and find someone who wasn't so bloodthirsty. He was selfish, what more was there to say?

"I don't think I ever really gave a shit about the law or helping people." He reached out and took one of the mugs of tea from the table, purposefully ignoring the tremble settling itself in his wrists. The day had already been so long, he was running on nothing but adrenaline, stuck in some hazy daydream where nothing felt quite real. "I guess I just wanted to feel important. It's not that I don't care about those things, they're great and all but... I don't think I care about them like I care about you."

The truth was not always sweet, it was rarely what people wanted to hear no matter how hard they claimed honesty was one of the few good things left in the world. Matt had always told the truth, no matter how ugly it was and that had to be appreciated at least a little. Maybe he deserved prison, maybe he deserved to rot behind bars for taking the law into his hands in such a horrifying fashion but Foggy didn't want him to. And that was the truth.

It did not make him good or evil, the world was too complicated to ever truly be categorised as such, no matter how hard the law tried to make it so. Matt was not evil and neither was Foggy. He was not the Devil and Foggy was not his willing partner, whatever they were, Foggy had grown to need it.

"You shouldn't," Matt mumbled and pulled his hand back from where it had been laying between them, not before Foggy could reach out and grab it though. He tightened his fingers around his hand, digging them into the meat of his palm.

"Yeah, you don't get to pull that card." Foggy scoffed, "You don't get to lead me on for all these months with the flowers and the fleeting touches and literally eating up every second of my god damn thoughts and then decide you don't want me." It wasn't anger fueling him but rather frustration, an annoyance that he would offer to destroy his whole life for Matt only to be rejected. "Cause that's what this is, Matt. This is me saying I want you to want me, I want to know this wasn't all some game at my expense."

Slowly, Matt wrapped his fingers around Foggy's, keeping him holding on tight. His own hands were still tinted red, Wilson Fisk's blood mixed with his own not quite finished decorating his skin yet. It wasn't like Matt could see it though, rather just smell the thick coppery remains in the air. It never really disappeared though, it didn't matter how much he washed, too much blood had been spilt to ever rid it all from his skin.

"Of course I want you," Matt said, his voice thick and syrupy. It had been so easy to want Foggy when he was convinced that they could never truly amount to anything. He'd never wanted something quite so much in his whole life but somehow he had come to peace with the fact that he'd simply fallen too far to ever be found. Foggy was too kind, he was a believer in the law and in the goodness of people when Matt had long since given up on second chances. While it had never been a game to him, if it were then it was at his own expense, not Foggy's.

Foggy stayed quiet as he watched Matt's face twist, the steady clench of his jaw as he tried to stop the ocean pouring out from his mouth. He waited for the clause, for the rejection and the pitiful apology that would follow. When none of them came, Foggy chose to take a long sip of the tea still cradled in his hand before taking his turn to confess again.

"I'm glad you killed Fisk." He said and Matt's head snapped up, tilting to the side and Foggy knew he was listening in on his heart, trying to see whether or not he was lying. "Hey— stop that. Listen to me, trust me, okay?" He squeezed Matt's hand tightly before adjusting them so he could interlock their fingers, clinging to him as though any second Matt would slip away into the darkness again never to be found. "He deserves to be dead. He hurt so many people and it's— it's not fair you had to be the one to kill him."

"I wanted to kill him." Matt squeezed Foggy's hand and wondered what he had done to deserve this, to have someone willing to accept him, Devil and all. It felt wrong, he was guilty and unworthy and so far gone from the man who'd once cornered Foggy against a wall and breathed him in like oxygen. Now? He couldn't imagine having the courage to do so, he was so tired. Foggy had always been brave, he had to be to face up to a murderer despite his fear but only now was Matt realising just how brave he was.

"I know." Foggy smiled sadly. "Maybe the right thing would have been to let him live, maybe it was an excuse for you to kill someone," Matt flinched and Foggy swiftly put his mug down so he could lay his hand across Matt's wrist, "but I don't care anymore. I'm done, I'm tired of it all. More than anything else, I realised that I loved you, as scared and crazy as you made me feel. I don't want to live in a world where you're not there with me. Whether it be as Matt Murdock or the Devil. I want both."

Matt was still for a few moments, blank eyes turned up at Foggy in such a way that Foggy could have sworn he was looking at him. He opened his mouth to speak and when nothing came out, it was as though something clicked within his mind. He didn't need words, he'd always prefered to show Foggy how he felt anyways.

All the air got punched out of Foggy's lungs as he watched Matt slowly pull his hand out from his grip. For a second he thought he about to get up and leave but before Foggy could start worrying too much, Matt had scooted closer to him and lay one arm across the back of the couch. He started to lean into Foggy's space, enclosing him in the corner and Foggy didn't feel fearful of what was to come, the thought that Matt could break him without any effort at all didn't even cross his mind.

Foggy sucked in a deep breath as Matt leant in, the curve of his nose brushing up against his cheek and suddenly the thought of Matt smelling him didn't sound so terribly strange. Actually, Foggy found his heart dancing within his chest at the knowledge that the Devil could read him so easily, he was an open book for his reading and he wanted to show him everything there was to know.

"Don't hurt yourself." Foggy mumbled as Matt strained to get closer, a low grumble coming from his throat as his aching ribs groaned at the strain. Matt didn't care though, he'd suffered through pain his entire life and he wasn't about to let it stop him from finally having the one spark of light in his world of darkness.

"I'm okay," Matt's nose brushed up against Foggy's as he spoke, his breath warm against Foggy's lips. It was true, he'd never been more okay in fact. Doubt still nibbled at his insides, a belief that he was too dangerous and unhinged to ever deserve love but he was also selfish. Maybe he didn't deserve goodness but that didn't mean he wouldn't take it when it was handed over, he couldn't resist it from hands so sweet.

If the Devil had taught Foggy anything, it was that fear was a necessity sometimes. It gave perspective, it had been comfort in moments where he thought he was losing his mind or had dug himself into a hole too deep. It didn't have to be a constant, The Devil was not the Devil always and Foggy was happy for the fear to return if it brought him back home to this.

So when Foggy leant in and kissed Matt, it was without fear and in spite of what felt like an eternity of shame and guilt. Matt's lips were soft, his stubble dark and scratchy beneath the palm of Foggy's hand which came up to softly cup his cheek. He had been wishing for tenderness for months, cursing himself when his dreams revealed a Devil begging to be loved and now here they were, glowing warmly in the sunrise dawning over New York.

Life was not always so gentle, not when you love a monster dressed as a man but on the off chance that he'd feel this in love forever, Foggy was willing to face the darkness beside Matt. That, after all, is the only thing to be expected when you sell your soul to the Devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are, at the end. thank you so much for reading and i hope with my whole heart that you enjoyed.
> 
> i am toying with the idea of perhaps doing a second series, one in which follows matt and foggy's relationship as an actual couple, romance and dates and bloodlust all now officially theirs. don't really have any solid ideas yet but if that sounds like something you'd like to read, then tell your friends about this series!! lemme know because ya girl has loads of stuff she wants to write but will make time if necessary.
> 
> check me out on tumblr at ["maggiemurdock"](http://maggiemurdock.tumblr.com/) and on [ patreon](https://www.patreon.com/peachmaisie) !!


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